


for i rejoice the case

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(that i am in)<br/>It is the spring of 1486, and Elizabeth has something to tell Henry. ‘Perhaps some part of her wishes that she could spend more time alone with her husband, for Henry is so known yet unknown to her, but she could never begrudge what has occurred.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	for i rejoice the case

Spring arrived weeks ago, and when the flowers are in full bloom Elizabeth finds herself making her way to Henry’s chambers, hoping that she shall find her husband alone, if she finds him there at all. Henry is often far too concerned with matters of the court, of the kingdom, that he frequently forgets to eat. She understands, she does, for it has only been mere months since he won the crown and there is much to be done to secure his reign, but still, it concerns her when he misses meals, for he shall need his strength for the trials that are sure to come. His forgetfulness, or rather, his stubbornness to take a few moments away from his duties, is something she has been striving to combat, telling him that it is part of his husbandly duty to take daily refreshment with his wife, and what better a time to do so than midday?

So on this bright spring day, Elizabeth thinks it prudent to dine with her husband, and to dine _alone_.

Elizabeth can scarcely contain her joy as she approaches Henry’s rooms, her feet swift as she moves through the palace, heart racing under her dress. Henry shall be so pleased, so proud, so happy, and she cannot wait to see the smile that shall spread across his lips when she tells him her news. It is not something they have been longing for, for they have not thought about it all, never discussed it with one another, but it is a welcome surprise nonetheless. They have only been wed a few months or so, and perhaps some part of her wishes that she could spend more time alone with her husband, for Henry is so known yet unknown to her, but she could never begrudge what has occurred.

She may be Henry’s wife, but she is also his queen, and part of that duty involves giving him children, giving him heirs. And she is immensely proud that she has fulfilled this duty so quickly. She is the eldest of many, but Henry is his mother’s only child, and to be blessed so quickly is surely a fortuitous sign for their marriage.  

Henry isn’t in his chambers when she enters, but she is assured by his yeomen that the King shall be returning soon, so she seats herself gently down on his bed, their bed, hands smoothing down the fabric of her skirts in an attempt to calm herself. There is no other way Henry could take her news than happily, but he is not here to confirm her beliefs so she worries nonetheless.    

It had been at his mother’s Coldharbour residence that he’d first kissed her, walking arm in arm amongst the gardens. It had been only a brief touch of lips, but when he’d pulled back from her and looked down at her with those blue eyes, concern etched on his brow, she’d known in that moment that King or not, she loved Henry for who he was, loved the man who crouched in the dirt and picked her the finest poesy of winter flowers he could gather.

He had been so tender with her, so loving, that any and all fears that she had towards their union had immediately dissuaded with his kiss. She had been frightened that if she gave herself to him entirely, gave him everything she had to offer, that he would do anyway with her as soon as he grew tired of her company, would seek a foreign bride rather than the daughter of the man whom had kept him in exile all these years, the daughter who possessed her own right to the throne he claimed.

The concern must have shown on her face as they met in her chambers, for Henry had held her close to him, smoothing down the curls of her hair and telling her, quite plainly, that it was she whom he wished to have as his wife, his queen, and as soon as the papal dispensation arrived, he would wed her and they would be happy. 

She hadn’t known that on the day of their wedding, their child had already been growing inside of her. She’s said nothing of the sort to her physicians, but Elizabeth isn’t silly, she knows she is too far gone for this child to have been conceived on their wedding night. As wonderful as that would be, the idea that this child was created before they were wed, when her husband was just Henry, not the King, and she was just Bess, not the Queen, is something she likes far better.

She is startled from her thoughts when Henry enters his chambers, a hand pushing hair away from his forehead. Her husband’s lips are pursed in concentration and he doesn’t notice her, not at first, but when he does, his frown quickly dissipates.

“Bess,” he murmurs, coming towards her and pressing a soft kiss on her hands. She smiles up at him, standing up off of the bed and dipping into a curtsey, the fabric of her dress rustling as she moves. Henry laughs softly, extending a hand to pull her out of her curtsey. Once she stands before him, he tilts her chin up to press a kiss to her lips, and then another.

“Have you come to make sure I’ve eaten, dear wife?” Henry questions, pulling off his gloves finger by finger. He glances over his shoulder at her, something she thinks must be close to tenderness alight in his eyes, the sunlight streaming in through open windows.

“Amongst other things,” she replies, stepping closer to him. Henry folds his gloves neatly and places them beside a pile of papers on his desk, pouring himself a glass of wine. He offers her one silently, but she shakes her head, placing a hand on his forearm.

Henry turns towards her, wine forgotten, and arches a brow in questioning. Her hand moves from his forearm to dangle in the air by her side, her heart racing once more under her dress. Her mouth is dry, her hands shaking, but she manages somehow to speak, to tell Henry the news that she thinks has cause to give them both immense delight.

“I am to have your child,” she murmurs, so softly she fears Henry may not have heard her. “That is, I believe I am pregnant Henry. I have for a while, but the doctor confirmed it only this morning,” she clarifies, looking up at him with a cautious smile. As she speaks, a hand comes to rest tenderly on her stomach, where the heavy fabrics of her skirts shall disguise any and all swelling of her stomach for months to come, until they are ready to announce their joyous news to the rest of the court, to the kingdom.

Henry is speechless, seemingly lost for words, and the only reaction from her husband is the movement of his hands, one come to resting on top of hers, against the place where even now their child grows, waiting to enter the world. A smile spreads across his lips, small at first but then stretching from corner to corner, and she even catches a quick glimpse of his teeth, her husband's joy unable to be restrained.

“Oh Bess,” he tells her, his free hand looping around her waist and pulling her close to him. “You have made me the happiest man.” Henry presses a kiss to her forehead, laughter spilling out of his throat and into her hair, and she grins into his neck, her fingers curled around the soft locks of his hair. “Mere months of marriage, and a child already on the way. Bess, you have given our dynasty the most auspicious beginning I could have ever hoped for,” he proclaims, drawing back to press a tender kiss to her lips.

“And I am happy for it,” Elizabeth replies, beaming up at him and slipping her hand into his. “Our children shall be kings and queens, heirs to the greatest dynasty England has ever seen, and we shall love them dearly.”

Henry nods in agreement, an arm still wound around her. “We shall,” he murmurs. “But I shall never love them quite as much as I love you, my dear sweet Bess.”

Elizabeth calls their child Arthur at her husband’s behest, and when Henry lays eyes on their son for the first time, still disheveled from his long ride, he weeps for joy, thanking her profusely for such a wonderful gift.

She kisses his brow in reply, Henry’s arms holding their son as tenderly as they have so often held her.


End file.
